


Rabbit Heart

by whatthehalestilinski



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Okay ya so have fun with this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-17
Updated: 2013-10-17
Packaged: 2017-12-29 15:58:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1007304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatthehalestilinski/pseuds/whatthehalestilinski
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Derek doesn't know how he always finds himself in Stiles' room or outside the window, but he does know being there calms him down enough when he can't run."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rabbit Heart

**Author's Note:**

> ok i'm sorry, this is mostly just me experimenting with my writing, so it's pretty shitty. there isn't much of anything, even fluff-wise, it's mostly just build-up i guess??? anyway it's unbeta'd, seeing as i'm not expecting people to fall in love with this. anyway yeah, welcome to me prepping for NaNoWriMo in half a month!!!!!

Derek doesn't know how he always finds himself in Stiles' room or outside the window, but he does know being there calms him down enough when he can't run. He can't pinpoint it, but there's a feeling in him surrounding Stiles, underneath all the annoyance and frustration. Being comfortable like that then makes him uncomfortable, mostly because he hates the hyperactive kid, but he'll take it over killing some poor woodland creature in a fit of rage. Even still, there shouldn't be a tickle under all that rock.  
  
Derek does his best to ignore that particular annoying tickle when he climbs in through Stiles' window for what must be the third night that week. He hasn't stayed in there long enough to be caught recently, but he thinks he just might this time. He's just here to ask if Stiles has any new information from the beastiary, maybe take a reading or two, that's all.  
  
When he hears the sound of Stiles' poor jeep rolling into the driveway, Derek does his best to steel himself. He's not leaving, not this time. He hears the door and then footsteps -- of course running ones -- on the stairs.  
  
The light flicks on, and Stiles lets out what Derek wouldn't call a very "manly" shriek as he falls to the floor. Derek doesn't move, and, when Stiles shouts a "What the fuck, Derek?" doesn't flinch. Obviously there's no problem because the sheriff's at work -- Derek didn't see the cruiser at least.  
  
"What progress have you made on the beastiary?"  
  
"Yeah, hey to you too. And minimal, because, you know, I am actually a teenage kid and I do have a life apart from all your supernatural bullshit thank you very much."  
  
"Yeah, like what?"  
  
"I don't know, school? I have like, class work to do and stuff."  
  
Derek sighs and rolls his eyes, but he knows he's not calm enough to leave yet. "Get to work then."  
  
Stiles hesitates. "What, you mean like, with you still here? Looking over my shoulder like some less-romantic, more-creepy version of Edward Cullen?" He laughs a little nervously. "Fat chance."  
  
"Just do it, Stiles." Derek says, and grabs one of the translations from Stiles' desk. He may as well get some of his own work done while he's here cooling off from Peter's latest antics. Stiles' bed is stripped of all the sheets and the duvet -- it looks like Stiles was in the middle of doing some laundry -- but it remains more inviting than the floor, so Derek lays the readings out there and gets to work. It's also kind of marinated in Stiles' scent, and although no one will ever get the confession out of him, it's a good thing.  
  
*  
  
They sit for a while in peace, with Stiles' scent blossoming, becoming increasingly more sweet and musky -- and therefore increasingly more distracting.  
  
"Okay, why are you here?" Stiles says, breaking the silence.  
  
Derek sighs. "I need more information. Just keep working."  
  
"You're really distracting, you know that?"  
  
"You are too. Stop tapping." Stiles sighs, drops his hand from the desk. "Fine, asshole." He turns back around and very pointedly returns to looking intently at his homework. It's not two minutes later before he speaks again. "Don't you have a translation at the loft?"  
  
"Yes, but I need more references. Now be quiet."  
  
Derek thinks they might actually get another ten minutes of work in until Stiles breaks it once more with, "But dude, you hate me. You could just take my translations and leave."  
  
"Is that what you want me to do?"  
  
"No. Well, kind of, maybe. No."  
  
"Then shut up."  
  
"But--"  
  
"Stiles, what part of 'shut up' don't you get?" Derek finally looks up from his translation to give Stiles a menacing stare. That seems to keep him quiet, at least for the moment.  
  
*  
  
After a while, when Stiles has started tapping again and the musky smell has been replaced by the overwhelming aroma of stress, Derek breaks the silence on his own. "Stiles."  
  
He turns around and Derek's eyes immediately go to the mark on his cheek, no doubt from leaning it on his hand and probably sleeping. "What?"  
  
Derek sighs. He didn't really think this through. "Come sit. You're too tense." He's aware he's just awkwardly invited Stiles to sit on his own bed in his own room, but he also knows Stiles wouldn't stop stressing out sitting at his desk, and probably wouldn't come sit beside Derek on his own bed if Derek hadn't invited him.  
  
Quietly -- for one time in his life -- Stiles picks up his homework binders and moves them to the other side of the bed. Derek's already gone back to reading over the translation again, but he can't help staring at Stiles without actually staring at Stiles.  
  
Slowly, minute after minute, Stiles' body starts shutting down, and from the corner of his eye Derek can see him jerking awake at least once a minute. Every so often Stiles will sway a little, then wake himself up again and try to focus on his work. It keeps happening until Stiles finally gives in for more than ten seconds and leans completely onto Derek.  
  
"Stiles," Derek says softly, practically a whisper. "Stiles, wake up." Nothing happens, not even a twitch, so Derek pokes a finger at his head. "Stiles." Nothing.  
  
Derek eventually figures the kid really needs some sleep and slowly moves Stiles' weight from his shoulder down onto the unmade bed. He's packing up all the papers to put back on Stiles' desk when he hears the chattering of teeth and shivers. It's practically winter and Stiles' heating system appears to be brutally damaged -- seeing as its just about 30 degrees in the room -- so Derek supposes Stiles' reaction isn't misplaced.  
  
He looks around, desperately searching for clean blankets, a bunch of sweaters, towels, anything. He refuses to actually go searching for them, mostly because going through all of Stiles' stuff seems much more intrusive and creepy than the alternative -- which would be sitting next to Stiles on the bed and giving him his jacket.  
  
Derek is aware that Stiles hasn't exactly invited him to, but he also knows that werewolves are practically walking furnaces, which is admittedly something Stiles needs right now. He resolves to sit on the bed near Stiles, but not /too/ near and not for too long. Stiles can just keep the damn jacket.  
  
Somewhere around two minutes have passed when Stiles' indications of low body temperature finally reduce only to goosebumps. He stirs a little, rolling over to face Derek. He's moving slowly, almost like he's underwater. After a long second, his eyes float open, sleepy.  
  
"Please stay."  
  
No, that's not what Stiles said. He was dreaming, sleeptalking. He said anything but-  
  
"Come on, lie down." Stiles' eyes are closed again -- he's dreaming, not inviting Derek. It still makes him uncomfortable, he refuses stay. Stiles will be fine, and fuck, pneumonia is only a few weeks in the hospital anyway.  
  
A shiver punctuates Derek's last thought.  
  
Slowly, he lowers himself down, putting about a foot between him and Stiles; helpful, not creepy. Stiles rolls back over, turning away from Derek. His heartbeat slows down, suggesting that he's asleep again; knowing Stiles, the only time his heartbeat is this slow is when he's sleeping. And even now it's more like a rabbit's than a human's.  
  
After a while, Derek's eyelids become heavy. Sleep taunts his brain, tugging it under. He notices -- just barely -- that Stiles has shifted closer to him, no longer asleep, and continues to do so. Derek can't even force himself to care when Stiles' back ends up flush against his front and the sweet, smokey aroma of arousal fills the room once again.  
  
*  
  
Derek wakes up five hours later, before the crack of dawn and before the sheriff's shift is over. He bolts upright, disgusted with himself. He hadn't meant to stay longer than ten minutes, he hadn't meant to fall asleep, and he certainly hadnt meant to be so close to Stiles; especially all without his clearly-expressed permission.  
  
Stiles is just a kid, and Derek really needs to leave. He packs up all of Stiles' homework and the translations and puts them back on the desk. He's opening the window, preparing to run home when Stiles stirs. Derek knows that should make him jump faster, but instead he hesitates.  
  
"Derek?"  
  
Damn it, he should have jumped.  
  
"You actually stayed?"  
  
"Go back to sleep, Stiles. I shouldn't be here."  
  
"Why did you come here in the first place-- no, damn it, I didn't mean _leave_. Fuck, what time is it?" Stiles falls out of bed, and Derek can hear him stumbling across the room, but he refuses to turn around and look at him.  
  
"Early. Bye, Stiles."  
  
"No, no, you can't do that, damn it." There's a tug at the back of Derek's shirt, and Stiles must know that won't do anything for a werewolf -- almost like it's a question, an invitation. Pretending it worked would be saying yes, brushing it off and leaving would obviously be a no.  
  
Derek supposes being somewhere in the middle still puts him in a "yes" position. He hesitates even still, not moving. Stiles definitely takes it as a chance to keep going, anyway.  
  
"Will you just - Jesus, sit down. We're gonna figure this out because this is something that _needs_ to be figured out before my stupid brain grabs it by the wrist and runs with it, okay, so you're staying. Five minutes, give me five minutes."  
  
Derek sighs, backing up from the window. "Three," he says, and instead of going back to sit on the bed, he stays there, leaning against the window frame. Stiles takes the chair by his desk.  
  
"Fine, lets start with what the _hell_ this is? Your jacket?" Stiles holds up what definitely is Derek's jacket, then throws it onto his bed. "I mean, I know I asked you to stay, but I never thought you actually would -- no, stop, back away from the window. I just mean -- why did you come here? Why did you stay?"  
  
"I told you, I came for a translation."  
  
Stiles runs his hands up and down his face, through his hair. "No, damn it, that's not it. You could have waited, come at anytime, asked me to bring it to the next pack meeting, _something_ , okay, so that is not it. See again: that crap right there." Stiles points to the jacket again.  
  
Derek huffs. There's no answer. No pass, no easy way out, no excuse. His eyes shift to the picture just above the headboard of Stiles' bed. "That's crooked."  
  
"And _that's_ not answering anything."  
  
Derek remains silent, focusing on his breathing. He's not in danger here. It's a long pause -- long enough for Stiles to break his death stare from Derek and start figeting, tapping his feet. Derek keeps his eyes locked on his shoes, arms crossed, and sighs.  
  
"Wait.. you're not... oh -- oh my God. You're -- Derek Hale is --" Stiles cuts himself off, getting up slowly and stepping towards Derek, which, of course, makes Derek immediately more uncomfortable. "Please tell me if I am reading this completely wrong, because that is totally a thing that could happen -- be happening -- and I don't want to ruin anything or just generally be dumb so please just tell me, okay?"  
  
Stiles has been slowly walking closer to him, and Derek is frozen. He can't stop looking at Stiles, from his eyes to the mole on his cheekbone to his nose to his sweaty palms to his lips and very quickly back up to his eyes.  
  
Finally, Stiles darts in, kissing him. It's hard, quick, drenched in the atmosphere of nerves. Stiles seems to back up almost immediately, looking like he regets the decision, while Derek remains stunned.  
  
"God I'm sorry I shouldn't have done that oh God you're going to kill me Jesus who's my dad gonna have then? Could you tell Scott to take care of him for me? Jesus, I'm sorry I read that wrong I read that all wrong --"  
  
It's then that Derek cuts Stiles off with a better kiss, pulling him in by the shoulders. It's softer, slower, sweeter. Stiles melts into it, shrugging off the tension. Derek isn't sure why he did it, or whether or not he'll regret it later, but he does know it's nice. Just as Stiles is bringing his hands up to Derek's neck, though, he breaks away.  
  
Derek freezes again, unsure of what to do. It isn't even 5:30 in the morning and he's just kissed the Sheriff's underage son. He whips around, turning for the window, and as he's jumping out and running through the woods toward the crapshoot of a loft he lives in, he hears Stiles speak.  
  
"If you're not here when I wake up again -- at a regular time, you know, _past_ the ass-crack of dawn -- to talk about all this, I swear by God Almighty I will do things to you even you would be impressed by. No, wait, no, that's not what I meant. That's supposed to be a threat, damn it! Like "I'll tear your skin off with my teeth" or something equally as menacing! Where the hell did you even learn to make threats like that on the spot? Is there a special handbook or something because-"  
  
That's all Derek hears, finally out of earshot, but he suspects Stiles probably went on for at least another minute before eventually giving up. It takes a while for Derek to realize he's smiling to himself softly as he runs, and to recognize that Stiles is the reason for it. He stops running, leans against a tree and just breathes.  
  
Derek thinks maybe he'll be ready to deal with Peter again after he wakes up from five more hours of sleep. In fact, at that moment, he almost feels ready to deal with anything. With Scott, with his house, with Peter, with pack, with the world.  
  
It occurs to Derek that Stiles has been wanting that for a while, and maybe so has he. He knows for a fact Stiles' lips have been on his mind way too much just by the amount of times he had to tell himself to stop thinking about them. He still feels uneasy, for a multitude of reasons, but for now he has other things to worry about. Specifically Peter. He's thinking exactly that as he walks in the door to the loft.  
  
"Got something you want to tell me, Derek?"  
  
Derek sighs, running a hand over his face. "No." It's too early for this. He stalks off into his bedroom, falling back onto the mattress. There's obviously only one thing coming back to his mind, and it's the exact thing he doesn't want to think about too much, so he closes his eyes and tries to go back to sleep.  
  
*  
  
As he's laying there, doing his best to convince himself he can go back to the world of unconciousness, Derek lets his mind wander for a little while. And while he's thinking about Stiles, he thinks maybe, just maybe, this might be a good thing.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm so sorry if you actually read to the end wow thank you so much u deserve warm freshly-baked cookies yay ok have a nice day ily
> 
> you should check me out on tumblr and twitter!!!!!! that would be super cool!!!!!  
> my tumblr: sterecked.tumblr.com  
> my twitter: @spoopernaturai (((its a capital i so it looks like a lowercase L)))


End file.
